


Paper Hearts

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: “I’m tellin’ you, dude, evenyoucan get laid on Valentine’s, I swear to God. It’s like… like unattached drifter Christmas or somethin’.”





	Paper Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/gifts).



> Happy-happy birthday to the best friend a girl could hope for, better than I deserve. ~~Sorry for being slow.~~

Valentine’s Day is a stupid, shitty holiday.

Dad ditched them—typical. Though, Sam’s gotta admit he prefers that to the years Dad hung around. Buried himself in bottles and Beatles tapes while Dean, tight-lipped and pale, helped Sam fill out cheap paper hearts for classrooms full of strangers.

Dean’s been out all day. Restless, amped to be legal drinking age, Sam guesses. He’ll hit a bar tonight. Come back, first light, cloud of booze and pussy. Sam’s teeth grind and he rubs his forehead.

Lock clicks. Dean strolls in. Pink cheeks and nose, blue jeans, brown leather. “Heya, Sammy.” Blows in his hands. “S’cold as balls out there.”

Sam squints. “That expression doesn’t even make sense. You get that.”

Dean shrugs. “Got somethin’ for ya.” Spinning card arcs through the air. Sam bats it down. “Y’should totally break that in tonight.” New fake ID. Pretty good one too. New Mexico, which, nobody in Michigan’s probably seen. “I’m tellin’ you, dude, even _you_ can get laid on Valentine’s, I swear to God. It’s like… like unattached drifter Christmas or somethin’.”

Sam shoves down the urge to whip the license back at Dean, or better yet, take scissors to it.

“…some brotherly bonding and shit.”

Sam looks up.

Dean’s half-leaned, half-sat on the dresser, casual posture but tense in the jaws. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

Sam’s hard-pressed to think of anything _less_ fun. Stuck at some dive bar, nursing cheap beer, watching Dean sweet-talk the women. “Okay,” he says anyway, because, no-fun with Dean still beats no-fun alone.

Dean smiles. Tension bleeds. “Awesome.”

⁂

“God, this music fuckin’ sucks,” Dean gripes and Sam laughs. Tosses back the shot Dean puts in front of him and winces. “Fuckin’ lightweight.” Dean chucks his arm.

Sam almost teeters off his stool. Drunk as he’s ever been, and judging from Dean’s flushed face and bleary eyes, he’s pretty fucked up too. “Suck my dick,” Sam says, and Dean’s tongue glimmers out. Lips shine. “This was a bad idea,” Sam mutters.

“No shit.” Dean scans the crowded bar. All the girls not paired off hang in packs. “Been strikin’ out like Reggie Jackson over here.”

Sam manages not to say he’s glad, but he laughs again.

“Annnd _you_ can suck _my_ dick,” Dean says.

“You couldn’t handle it.”

Dean’s eyes bug.

Sam grabs his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here, huh? Hit a liquor store, get a bottle and,” he grins, “an _irresponsible_ amount of candy…” Booze is making him brave. Or making him lose his mind, whatever.

Flash across Dean’s face that Sam’s too drunk to parse. “Okay, Sammy.” Nods. “Let’s blow this party.” Gets Sam’s elbow and guides him out the door.

Motel’s just two blocks down. Shoulders nudge and Sam’s sure sidewalks aren’t supposed to move like this. He weaves. Dean gets under his arm and up against him, steadies. Bitches the whole way about… Brenda? Glenda? Some girl he was _this close_ to sealing the deal with—

“Then this other chick comes over and goes, ‘Girls’ night out, remember?’ and she ditched me. Just like that. Full-on cockblock, what a bitch!”

“Y’shouldn’t,” Sam means to look at his brother but just gets a noseful of hair, “say that about a lady.”

Dean stops, faces Sam and wow. His mouth is just, right there. “What are you, Sir Galahad or somethin’?” Sideways smile almost glows under the motel neon.

Sam winces. Doesn’t like that train of thought at all.

Dean bumps their hips. “C’mon, Sir Knight, we’re almost there.” They pass the office, all decked out with shiny hearts taped to the lobby doors. Dean ducks from underneath Sam’s arm and peels one off. “Hey, Sammy. Be my Valentine?”

Sam almost face-plants. Halfway races down the covered walk toward their room. Dean follows. Sam fumbles the key while Dean sticks the red foil to his chest.

“Check it out! Got a heart-on for ya.” Dean’s patented bad-joke smirk, booze and close proximity. Aftershave and whiskey, smoke and leather…

Sam drags Dean inside by his lapels. “Y’shouldn’t say that either.” Pulls him, nose-to-nose. Dean’s gaze drops to Sam’s lips, up again. “Unless you mean it.” Sam sinks to his knees, shrugs off his jacket.

“Sammy.” Half-pained, nearly whispered. Whites show all around Dean’s eyes, barely any green.

Sam palms his zipper. Feels him twitch and thicken. “Whaddaya know…”

“Don’t…” Dean’s teeth grind. Adam’s apple bobs and Dean’s chin drops. “Don’t stop.”

Sam attacks his belt. Heater kicks off; only sounds are clinking metal and breathing. Dean gropes his shoulders, bunches his shirts up. Sam takes the hint, raises his arms, and lets Dean strip him. Crooked fingers glance across his cheekbones, tangle in his hair. Sam tears his brother’s fly apart, tugs down his underwear. He’s seen Dean’s dick a million times—not like they’re much modest—but he’s never _looked_. Never seen it hard like this, smooth head and faintly purple veins.

Sam drags a thumb along the underside. Dean breathes in sharp, hips kick, and Sam opens. Drags Dean back and forth across his lips, a little wet already. Sam flicks with his tongue and Dean groans, sways above him.

“Sammy. Sammy. Sam.” Hands on his biceps, pulling up and Sam goes. Dean pets down his chest. Traces his collarbone and strokes his neck. Wide-mouthed and flushed, sweat gleams at his temples. “Make me stop, Sam, please; we can’t do this. I don’t—”

“Want to?” Sam thrusts, rock-hard in his jeans. Head spins and maybe half that’s the booze.

Dean’s forehead knocks his shoulder. “Fuck.”

Sam slips his arms around, inside Dean’s coat. Curls fingers in his shirt hem, knuckles where his spine curves toward his ass. “’Cause I do.” Noses at Dean’s ear. “Don’t wanna stop; I wanna taste you.” Hooks Dean’s chin and forces eye contact. “You’re… all I _ever_ wanted, Dean.”

His face pales. Muscles tic where his teeth grind. “Jesus, Sammy, I’m so—” Eyes squeeze shut. “I tried, man. Didn’t mean to fuck you up like—”

Sam growls. Dean shivers and Sam pins him to the door. So close their lips brush when Sam says, “Shut up.”

Dean’s tongue flicks. Sam feels, more than sees it. Dean tips up his chin and Sam’s hands slide behind his neck. Warm press of their first kiss rocks Sam back on his heels. Dean seizes, spins them and drives Sam up against the door. Tongue pries Sam’s teeth apart and thigh jams up between his legs. Sam grunts. Quakes and his head spins. Dean tugs at his hair and tips him backward. Mouths and sucks him all along the jawline.

Sam wrestles Dean out of his coat and overshirt. Palms down his chest and Dean’s horned amulet digs at his hand. Sam’s fingers curl around and he ducks out of Dean’s grip. Leads him by the necklace to a bed and shoves him down. Dean hikes an eyebrow. Dick leaks on his belly and Sam kneels.

Dean curls up, kisses Sam and moans fall out. Sam peels Dean out of his Henley. Paper heart flutters away and Dean’s amulet bounces against his chest. Sam wraps Dean’s cock in his fist, licks circles under the ridge. Dean shakes against him. Sam’s mouth floods at the salty taste. Dean brushes Sam’s hair back; thumb strokes across his eyebrow, feather light.

Sam looks at Dean and wets his lips, seals them and sinks down. Dean falls back with a gravel moan. Sam bobs, chokes a little, even with his hand. Tears, spit, and precome smear his face. He pulls his cheeks in, ramps the suction. Jerks his brother off into his mouth.

Dean comes, storm of cusswords, tight and quiet as his hips jump off the bed. Sam does his best to swallow but his dick betrays him. Sight of Dean, sweat-slick and writhing, moaning his name and Sam blows in his jeans. Gurgles and yells and takes a shot across his cheek. Fingers dig in Dean’s thigh, knees give out and he slumps back. Strokes Dean slow through the aftershocks.

He lays his head against his brother’s leg. Fights to get his lungs under control. Dean goes on swearing under his breath, touching Sam’s hair, petting his face. Hauls him up, at last, into a kiss so wet and filthy Sam gets hard again.

Dean reaches down. “Holy…” Grinds his palm against Sam’s fly. “You got off?” Groans, “That’s fuckin—Jesus, Sammy.”

Sam buzzes with alcohol and Dean’s smell everywhere.

Dean orders, “Naked. Now.” And Sam complies. Boots, jeans, and boxer shorts join shirts and coats on the grimy carpet. Dean worms up the bed and drags Sam with him. Tucks Sam’s face to his neck.

Sam shoves down thoughts of what this means, where they go from here, and how long until Dean freaks out. Lazy fingers skim his brother’s chest. Their breath syncs up and Dean starts snoring.

Sam stifles a laugh. Eyes flutter closed.


End file.
